


Did You Miss Me?

by we_are_all_mad_here



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Absence, Chip Shop, Edinburgh, Gen, Isolation, John Missed Sherlock, London Underground, Previous Disappearance, Sherlock AU, Suits, references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:33:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_all_mad_here/pseuds/we_are_all_mad_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock reveals he didn't die after the incident at St. Bart's, John disappears; leaving everyone behind and moving to Scotland. Two years later and the pull is too much - He returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Miss Me?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic and please, if there is any constructive criticism you have, please feel free to leave it in the comments. Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> PS - I'm not too sure whether I will do a next chapter or not because I have a very short attention span.

John twisted his hands through his scarf, wrapping his hands through the soft fabric then smoothing it out again. He had been doing that all the way from Edinburgh but was almost at his destination; the small, back alley apartment that he had called home for so long with its cobbled walls and bubbled wall paper. He remembered the stench fondly; the local chippy situated below the flat wafting up smells of deep fat frying and some other aromas that hurt his nose. But they were the smells of home. The conductor announced that they were at Waterloo and John stood up on shaking legs, his seat immediately being taken by a young lad; maybe sixteen or seventeen. ‘No going back now’ he thought, mumbling quiet ‘excuse me’s to the cramped crowd; most of them having travelled with him from Scotland, home for the weekend or even the holidays. At least that was his plan.   
He stumbled off of the train and glanced around, the noise hitting him immediately and causing him to have to cover his ears, the mixture of sounds becoming overbearing quickly. He glanced around the grimy station in search for a simple road map or tour guide he could consult; never before had he ever wanted to return to the place that had caused him so much hardship but the feeling had become overbearing these past few weeks; as the weather got colder, John’s need for company became stronger. He ventured out of his private cabin for the first time in two years and was no longer sure of how to behave around people – Isolation can do that to someone. 

Quickly he orientated himself, making his way to the bustling surface with his hands still covering his ears. People practically charged at him from all direction as he attempted to move through the hostile crowd, his lack of spacial awareness meaning he was followed by chorus’ of ‘Oi watch it!’ and ‘Mind yourself, Mate!’ but he couldn't hear any of it.   
John glanced around, his eyes wide open as he took in the bright lights emanating from all the buildings surrounding him; sunset must have taken place while he was underground but London was still bustling. That was the first sunset he hadn't seen in two years and a wave of sadness took over; the amount he was sacrificing for this visit was indescribable. The lack of his favoured isolation and his silence included in that list but the most important was the sunset – His link to the larger universe. He stumbled through the streets, his legs almost automatically leading him to the place he wanted to go despite his better nature. His mind was telling him that his company would have moved on by now or at least moved away; found a better person or a bigger flat. John was poison but his need became too much and he was unable to hold back the urges any more. 

After hours of wandering and searching, his mind becoming more scattered as the night went on, he reached his destination; the peeling paint of the chippy alerting him to his arrival. It was still open and John was starving but there would be time for that later; what he needed now was information. He pushed open the door with one hand, jumping as the bell made him jump. A few seconds later a large man emerged from behind the door, his apron covered in mysterious stains that John couldn't identify.  
‘What’ll it be, son?’ The man’s voice was gruff and it was followed with a deep smokers cough, making John jump yet again.  
‘I-I need I-information please.’ In contrast, John’s voice was feeble from the years of not being used apart from sweet whispers to his photographs in lonely moments. He barely whispered the request but the man seemed to understand what he was saying.  
‘Information, eh? Got any money?’   
‘Y-yes, sir.’  
‘Well go on then, whaddya need?’ The man held out his voice as he spoke and John gingerly placed a five pound bill on his greased stained fingers, wilting under the man’s gaze.  
‘T-the tenant...Upstairs. D-does he still live there?’ As he spoke John’s posture changed as his mind remembered communicating with people from all those years ago before the accident.  
‘What? That man? The curly dude?’   
John nodded.  
‘Yeah he lives there still. I often hear him shooting his blasted gun at eight in the morning, why do you wanna know?’ John suddenly became aware that the man was chewing gum, a disgusting habit that he had ditched years before, during his time away in Afghanistan – It just made him despise the man that much more.  
‘I need to speak with him. Thank you for your help.’ John’s voice was strong again, still a bit whispery on some of the unfamiliar words but he felt more comfortable in speaking to strangers. John left without uttering another word; quickly making his way up the crumbled staircase, not holding on to the banisters for fear of germs and contamination. He knew how unclean his company could be when he was busy or high and the isolation had meant John had become concious of different bacteria out there.

The door looked the same as before. Not the flat they had originally bought as a pair but instead the one that they had bought when they had out grown that one; this one had three floors and an attic meaning that they could both have their own privacy and there would be no more awkward encounters. The door was dark red and the carving in the wall had all but been worn away. He didn't need it though; he knew what lay behind those doors. He reached up and pulled on the tough string that was used for the bell, the loud clanking surely announcing to the whole neighbourhood that someone had arrived at those doors. A stumbling was heard from inside the flat and John’s palms grew sweaty; not with nervousness or fear but rather anticipation and excitement. The door opened and John stared up in wonderment, the man standing in front of him so different from the one he came to know; his hair was shorter, the curls cut away and his usual dressing gown or bed sheet was replaced with a suit minus a tie with one button undone. John was almost disturbed by how much he had changed but one this stayed the same, the man’s eyes were running over John’s body; picking up any and all details that the ordinary person would notice. But this wasn't any ordinary person. When the man’s eyes reached John’s face his breath caught in his throat, his slender hand came up to cover his mouth and his eyes immediately began to water as he recognised the ghost that disappeared two years ago. John chuckled lightly, awkwardly, and nodded once as if to reassure his company that no, he wasn't dreaming and no, he wasn't high – Well, not that John knew. 

John’s hand moved up and rubbed the back of his head with nervousness as he began to grow more uncomfortable under the raven-haired man’s gaze. He opened his mouth to speak and lightly licked his lips. ‘Well Sherlock, did you miss me?’


End file.
